


What We Owe To Each Other

by chromaticaberration



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromaticaberration/pseuds/chromaticaberration
Summary: How do you rebuild a life you never had? Cloud returns to Midgar after the events of Crisis Core.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> The events written here take place shortly after Crisis Core. Beyond that, I think it's more of an alternate storyline rather than a prequel to FFVII. Hope you enjoy!

It had been a very, very long road. The last days of his journey were a distant blur, and when he tried with great effort to clear his racing thoughts, he could only summon vague, dreamlike memories of gunfire ringing in his ears while blood mingled with rainwater. He didn’t bother to try much harder.

Cloud laid the sword on one of the queen size beds occupying the majority of the hotel room. He had polished it until it shone, reflecting the light of the buzzing fluorescent bulb that had been mounted to the ceiling, its harsh brilliance limited only by a thin plastic cover. He flicked a switch by the bedside and the buzzing ceased, and then it was just him and the sword and the glow of neon lights filtering in through the thin curtains. 

The hotel had only been offering double rooms, but they were a decent price. Money wasn’t tight – not yet, anyway – but Cloud knew that this was an impermanent residence. He figured they’d probably let him stay indefinitely, and it was even cheaper to stay here than rent likely was in this neighbourhood, but he had no business here. His place was with her, wherever she had wound up.

It was possible that she had wound up in Junon, but he doubted that the military presence there would have made it an inviting place for her to settle down. She could have gone to Kalm – she was used to small towns, after all – but he knew that if she was waiting for him at all, she would be doing so here in Midgar. There was no waiting to be done in Nibelheim anymore.

Four years had passed since he had last seen her. He had no reason to believe that she had even lived, beyond a stubborn and irrational belief that she was too strong to die before him. Even as a child, she had always been the tougher one. He had been a small, scrawny boy with ambitions far exceeding his limitations, and she had been a fearless, sturdy fighter with no desire but to see the people around her safe and whole. He had wondered, before the incident, if she had ever thought it unfair that he would become a member of SOLDIER, while she played the role of the maiden waiting back at home. Now, there was no doubt in his mind: she had been dealt an unfair hand. Cloud could tell himself that he was paying the price for his delusions of grandeur – that some form of cosmic justice had brought him to this hotel room – but Tifa had no sins to pay for.

He reached down and began to collect the balled-up, bloodied paper towels off the floor. The sword had taken a good half hour to polish to that level of cleanliness, and he had been forced to make do with the supplies that were available to him in the hotel room. He had checked in late about a week ago, and the tired man at the front desk had seemed to think little of him or his weapon. He supposed that was par for the course in a neighbourhood like this. 

He had only just now gotten around to polishing the sword, having had it propped upright against the wall in the meantime. After checking in, he had slept for almost two days. It had taken a couple more days after that for the mako poisoning to finish running its course altogether, and now he was finally on the mend. His head wasn’t swimming as much, and he wasn’t getting sick after breakfast anymore. He found that he had little appetite to begin with, though, and his newfound clarity of mind only enabled him to think and worry at length.

He had started searching for her a couple days ago, but his efforts had not proven particularly fruitful. Midgar was a big city, and he had no idea what a woman like Tifa would have wound up doing here. He had visited some of the bigger tourist traps in Midgar, thinking that her previous experience as a guide might have landed her a job, but he quickly learned that there was little to do in Midgar other than eat, drink, and work. Bars were the most plentiful attraction, it seemed, lining the streets with neon signs advertising cheap food, cheap drinks, and (sometimes) cheap company of the romantic variety.

He had been staying just outside of the Sector 7 slums, where the people seemed to pay him little mind. Cloud had always liked Midgar’s slums, even though there had been little cause for a SOLDIER 1st class to wander them on a regular basis. They were a dark, broken place, littered with scrap metal and old shipping containers, but the place had a soul, he thought. That was the thing about Midgar: it had a cold, chrome-plated exterior that obscured its vibrant heart. 

Cloud finished cleaning up and washed his hands, watching the water run from crimson to pink to clear. He wondered dimly what became of all the blood that had collected in the puddles of rainwater outside of Midgar. Would it help the plants grow? Had it just evaporated away?

Exiting the bathroom, he turned back to stare across the darkness of the room at his sword, its silver blade gleaming softly like forged moonlight. He could still barely carry it. He was stronger now, with the mako poisoning behind him, but his muscles had atrophied, and he still felt weak on his feet if he walked around for too long. The empty bed seemed to call to him, inviting him to sleep, but the night was still young, and he knew he would be unable to sleep peacefully without a drink.

Leaving the sword on the bed, Cloud locked his door and exited the hotel, stepping out into the night. The air wasn’t particularly clean, but it was less stagnant than his stuffy hotel room, and he felt his energy returning to him as he made his way through the slums. He passed several bars along the way, but many of them were too busy for comfort, or looked to be in a state of disrepair that seemed undesirable for an establishment that specialized in serving food and drink.

Finally, he settled on a place he had seen a thousand times over in Midgar – it had been under construction all those years ago, he remembered – and made his way through the door into the quiet bar. The sign that buzzed over the entryway read 7TH HEAVEN.

He seated himself at the bar. The place was nearly dead, save for what looked like a few regulars passed out in a booth. It was tidy, though, and well decorated for a bar in the slums. The bartender had her back to him, her hair pulled up underneath a baseball cap. She was tidying the back counter, no doubt giving herself some busy work to distract her from the lack of customers.

“Give me something hard,” Cloud said, his voice grittier than he had anticipated. It struck him that he had not spoken all day.

The woman nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, finishing her tidying and pouring him a glass of scotch before turning to face him at the bar.

Cloud’s reflexes were too slow, and he missed the glass as it fell awkwardly from her hands in her shock. It rolled off the bar and shattered, leaving its contents all over the counter and floor. Neither of them seemed to pay any mind to the chaos. They were too busy staring at each other in awe and disbelief.

“You’re home,” Tifa said after a pause. “After all this time, you’re home.”


	2. two

After the initial shock of their encounter, Tifa had awkwardly cleaned up the shattered glass from the floor. Her few patrons, who were surprisingly agreeable, left the bar at her request. She had turned off the neon sign out front, and now she sat across from Cloud, her hands around a cup of coffee he had brewed as she cleaned. 

“At some point I’m going to need that scotch,” Cloud said, breaking the incredulous silence that had fallen over them. “But coffee will do in the meantime.”

She smiled – it was still that same half-smile he remembered, where her eyes shone as though she was enjoying a joke you were only partly in on – but she said nothing. It was odd, Cloud thought, that she didn’t look much older. He felt that since the Nibelheim incident, he had aged from a boy into a man, taller and sturdier and with a sharper, more masculine jawline. Looking at Tifa, though, he wasn’t so sure; if she looked the same, maybe he hadn’t changed so much, either.

There was one thing that seemed different, he thought. She seemed tired, as though the years had been unkind to her not in the physical sense, but in a strange, intangible manner. Something about her seemed to have hardened, and she seemed even less like the innocent, damsel-like girl neither of them had believed her to be, way back in Nibelheim.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, after a sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think you’d wind up somewhere like –”

He had meant to say _here_ , but he realized that she likely hadn’t thought she would wind up _here_ , either. He course-corrected and finished the sentence: “Like Midgar, given that you grew up in such a small town.”

Tifa shrugged. “Would you have come looking for me if I had gone anywhere else?”

“Yes,” Cloud replied, unsure as to whether or not he was telling the truth. He would have gone to the ends of the earth to search for her, but only if he had believed he was wanted. Even with Tifa in Midgar, he still wasn’t sure if he was a welcome presence in her bar.

“I haven’t seen you in years,” she said. “After I got to Midgar, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again. I looked for you, but you weren’t here. The official report at Shinra was that you were dead, but the rumors seemed to suggest otherwise. I wasn’t sure where to put my faith, so I put it into this establishment. It feels good, running a place like this.” She ran her hand over the worn lacquer of the table. “I was waiting for you, Cloud, but you don’t have to make good on your end of our promise. I don’t need saving anymore.”

Cloud said nothing. He believed it.

Tifa’s eyes drifted from the table to his face. It was the first time she had really let her eyes linger on his all night. “What were you doing, all this time?”

There they were again, the memories rushing up to meet him like a tidal wave: the sound of gunshots, blood and rain running down his face and into his eyes. And then it was over as soon as it began, and he responded, “Running, mostly.” 

He didn’t miss the disappointment in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Cloud said. “I owe you a better explanation.”

“No, it makes sense,” she replied. “Well, no, actually – nothing that’s happened has made much sense – but I knew there was a reason why you couldn’t contact me sooner. You don’t owe me anything.”

_I owe you a life that you never got to live_ , he thought. He realized that he was still wearing elements of his SOLDIER uniform and felt the urge to change. Outside, a couple was in the midst of a drunken argument. The bar was silent as Cloud and Tifa finished off their coffees.

“You didn’t have to close up shop, you know,” Cloud said as he carried their empty cups to the sink behind the bar. “I didn’t want to cost you a night of revenue.”

For the first time, Tifa laughed. “What revenue? I make enough to get by, but my regulars have tabs a mile long. The only nice thing about Sector 7 is that the rent’s cheap.”

Cloud returned to the booth and laid a twenty dollar bill on the table. “If you want a hand around here, I’m in a hotel down the street. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

He felt a hand on his arm, firm but gentle. “You’re not staying in a hotel, and your money’s no good here. Get your things and bring them back here – I’ve got room downstairs to keep a whole bunch of people, if I wanted to.” She pressed the bill back into his palm.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“I just got you back. You think I’m going to risk not having you walk through my door again?” She was smiling, her eyes shining in the soft, incandescent light of the bar.

“I’ll get my things, then,” Cloud replied. He let himself smile, just once, on the way back to the hotel.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in updating! I had some surgery that kept me out of commission for about a week. I'm thinking that future chapters will be a bit longer - most of what I've written so far is expository - but I anticipate that I'll be able to keep updates a bit more regular. Thanks for the kudos and nice comments; this is my first fanfiction (and honestly my first real written work outside of academic papers), so I'm excited to be here. :)

The sword felt lighter when its weight was distributed across his back. Cloud glanced at himself in the mirror on the wall of the empty hotel room. Despite the added weight, he felt himself standing taller, and he looked a little more like the man he had once aspired to be. He found himself caught in the gaze of his reflection, staring into mako-stained eyes that shimmered in the dim neon light filtering in through the curtains. They were his eyes, no doubt – he had always had brilliant blue eyes, even before SOLDIER – but they were lighter now, more ethereal looking. They were the eyes of a ghost.

Back in the bar, Tifa had been avoiding his gaze. She had been trying not to stare, he thought, or maybe she had been afraid. She was not easily frightened, but she knew just as well as he did what men with mako eyes were capable of.

He felt the urge to change his clothes, but all he had was the shirt – and the sword – on his back. After the worst of the mako poisoning had passed, Cloud had grabbed some detergent from the laundromat nearby and brought it back to his hotel room to wash his clothes in the bathtub. He had sat wrapped in a blanket as his clothes dried, watching old movies on the cheap tube television that had been screwed to the top of the dresser. He repeated this process every second day, finding a strange comfort in the consistency of the act. Buying more clothes had felt like a burden, anyway; there had been little point in having to carry anything more than necessary until he had found Tifa.

He left the key in the room, unwilling to go through the check-out procedure with the gruff man at the front desk. Despite the fact that it had functioned as a sick room and a home to a bloodied sword for many days, he left the room cleaner than he had found it.

Cloud exited the hotel for the last time and began the walk back to Tifa’s bar. It was getting colder outside, though the intensity of the seasons was dulled somewhat in the slums. It was late now, and the various pubs and questionable establishments were enjoying their peak hours. The streets were reasonably empty as a result, mainly populated by drunken partygoers who had needed a break from the commotion and heat of the crowded indoors. But one individual stood out, her hair shining, her dress clean and fresh, and the cart sitting next to her adorned with fresh flowers.

It took him a moment to realize that the cart was in two pieces. One of the rear wheels had come off of its axle, and the girl was trying to heave the considerably overloaded cart up with one hand while attempting to replace the wheel with another.

Without thinking, Cloud crossed the street to approach her.

“Can I give you a hand with that?”

The girl turned her head to look up at him, peering sideways through her bangs. “If you’re able, I’d really appreciate it,” she said, smiling.

Cloud grabbed the back of the cart and lifted it. It took more effort than he had anticipated, and he thought dimly that he would need to find a place here in Sector 7 to train and regain some strength. Free to use both hands this time, the girl returned the wheel to its rightful place and stood, dusting the grit and dirt from her dress.

“Thank you,” she said. “This thing has a bit of a tendency to fall to pieces at the worst of times, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

Cloud lowered the back end of the cart and turned to face her. “You’re overloading it. It’s not an issue with the craftsmanship.”

He realized, with some discomfort, that he had no desire to continue this conversation. In fact, he had little interest in conversing with anyone other than Tifa, and even then, chief among his current desires was a warm bed and a solid ten hours of sleep. Cloud turned and began to walk in the direction of the bar.

“Hold on a moment!”

Cloud felt a hand on his shoulder and recoiled reflexively. Turning around, he realized that the girl was holding a small bouquet of flowers in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to give you these.”

Before he could object, the girl took his hand and wrapped his fingers around the flower stems. They were cool to the touch, and damp from having been kept in water. Her hands were soft, and her touch felt gentle. Cloud found himself tightening his grasp on the flowers.

“You’ll want to cut the stems before you put them in water,” she said. “You can put some sugar or a penny in with them to help them last longer.”

“What do I owe you?”

She looked confused. “Owe me? I’m the one who should be owing you, if anything. I wish I had more to give you than flowers. Thanks for the help.”

The girl smiled, looking from the flowers to his eyes. For a brief moment, her expression faltered.

“Just like the color of the sky,” she whispered.

“I can’t say I get that one a lot.”

She shook her head. “Sorry about that. You just reminded me of someone else for a moment, is all.” Her smile returned, and whatever she had been thinking of was let go.

“Are you sure I don’t owe you anything?” Cloud asked.

“How about your name?”

He felt himself smile, just a little. “It’s Cloud.”

“I’m Aerith,” she replied. “If you ever want some flowers, or if you just want to chat, I wander around here most days. Sometimes I’m in the old church. I don’t get much company, so I’d always appreciate it.”

Cloud nodded. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon,” he replied.

Aerith returned to her cart, waving to him cheerily as she left. He found himself waving back, clutching the flowers tightly in his hand.


	4. four

He cut the flower stems with kitchen scissors, letting the ends drop into the wastebasket. Somewhere upstairs, a shower was running, and he could hear the faint sound of Tifa humming an unfamiliar tune.

Cloud placed the flowers in an old wine decanter with some water and half a packet of sugar. They smelled exceptionally fresh, like they had carried the air from a mountaintop to the stagnant world of the Sector 7 slums.

He poured himself a near-full glass of Tifa’s cheaper scotch and drank it like water. It felt like fire in his throat, running through his chest and igniting his lungs. Suppressing a cough, he reached into his pocket, produced the twenty dollar bill that Tifa had refused earlier, and stuffed it into the tip jar.

It took him a moment to realize that the tune was not entirely unfamiliar after all. Cloud walked over to the booth where the two of them had spoken earlier and reclined across one of the benches, careful to keep his boots off of the seat. Leaning his back against the wall, he closed his eyes and listened.

And suddenly he was a boy again, seated at the piano in Tifa’s bedroom. She sat on her bed, humming a tune as he awkwardly navigated the keys in an attempt to find a reasonable supporting harmony. He had never taken lessons, but he was reasonably skilled for a young, self-taught pianist. It wasn’t long before the music shifted from discordant to surprisingly pleasant.

“What song is that?” Cloud asked as the room fell silent once again.

Tifa shook her head. “I don’t know the name of it,” she said, reclining on the bed, “but two men from Kalm stopped in town the other week to buy some goods. I overheard one whistling this tune, and when he finished, he told his friend that his wife used to hum it before she passed away.”

“That’s pretty sad.”

“It is, but it made me think of something. My grandmother used to tell me that we don’t live on through stories or pictures, but through the ripples we leave in our wake. She says that when I tell a joke, it’s always in the same tone of voice her father had when he was thinking of something funny. I guess I must have learned it from her, because she did the same. I never met the man, but I imagine my children or even some of my friends will pick up the same mannerism. That’s something about him that will continue to change people, even long after his story is forgotten.”

“I guess I never thought about legacies that way,” Cloud said. He pressed a key on the piano so gently that it was almost inaudible. “It’s a pretty song.”

“The least we can do is sing it from time to time,” she replied.

And then he was himself again, not a boy but a young man, his head swimming from the scotch. Tifa stood over him in an old T-shirt and a pair of flannel pants, a towel draped around her shoulders to keep her hair from soaking her clothes.

“The flowers are beautiful,” she said, smiling softly. “Did you run into the girl with the cart? She’s usually not out this late.”

Cloud pressed his hand to his forehead and sat up slowly. “I helped her fix it. One of the wheels came off, so I guess she was out there for a while trying to repair it herself.”

“She’s sweet. I don’t run into her much outside of the bar, but a few of my patrons come in here with flowers from her. There’s an old woman who comes in from time to time to get a coffee after work, and she’s always got a flower to bring to her husband.”

If Tifa had noticed the sword leaning against the wall next to the sink, she chose to say nothing about it. Cloud felt uncomfortable, though, bringing a weapon into her home and place of work. After all, he had no reason to be armed anymore; his military days were a thing of the past.

“I don’t need much room to store my things for the night,” he said. “I don’t carry much luggage.”

“For the night?”

“Tifa, you’re not running a charity. I need to find a job and a place of my own.”

For a moment, she looked hurt, and Cloud regretted the edge in his voice. Softly, he said, “You don’t owe me anything. I’d feel bad, taking advantage of your hospitality like that.”

Suddenly, she smiled slyly and pointed a finger across the table at him. “What if I could offer you both a job and a place to stay?”

“You want me to work here?” he asked, dumbfounded. “I’m no good at bartending.”

“You can leave the bartending to me,” she replied. “There are plenty of other tasks. I actually had a guy helping me out here, but him and his daughter are out of town with a friend for a while.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow. “A guy?”

She laughed. “Our relationship was strictly professional, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He shook his head, realizing that he was doing so far too emphatically. It occurred to him that he was drunk. All he had consumed prior to the scotch was a cup of coffee. “No, I just mean – never mind. What other tasks are there?”

“Cleaning, mostly, but I could really use someone taking orders. I don’t get a lot of particularly unruly customers, but it happens from time to time, so having some extra muscle would help.”

“If I do this, you don’t get to pay me. The room is enough.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you’re on board, because I’ve already set up your room downstairs. It’s a bit of a mess, but feel free to organize it however you like.”

* * *

Cloud leaned the sword against the wall next to his new bed. The flannel sheets were soft and clean, smelling faintly of fabric softener.

He looked around the room. It looked like a repurposed rec room. In one corner, there was a dusty looking upright piano. A weight bench sat in another corner. A large area rug had been spread over the metal floor, and his bed occupied the wall to the left of the ladder that facilitated entry and exit.

It was haphazard, but the room was still oddly cozy. Tifa had left him to organize things as he saw fit, but the urge to sleep was overwhelming. He climbed into bed, kicking his boots onto the floor before pulling the covers up to his chin. Upstairs, Tifa was humming again.

* * *

He felt the hilt of the sword vibrate as it crunched bone, and through the roaring in his ears he heard a man scream. He couldn’t tell if the sound was his own or his assailant’s. There was no time to decipher the sounds and sights of the battlefield. There was no time to ponder who was suffering, or who was winning, or who was going to die. There was barely time to react.

And then he was awake and in bed again, and the pain that had seemed to radiate through his body was localized only to his forehead. The scotch had not provided him with the dreamless sleep he had been seeking.

Cloud kicked off the sheets and sat up slowly. A bottle of water and a couple of painkillers sat on the bedside. Tifa had noticed, he realized with a mix of gratefulness and embarrassment.

When his thirst was quenched and the pounding in his head had abated, Cloud stood and wandered over to the piano. He ran his fingers along the tops of the keys, seating himself on the wooden bench. It had been years since he had played, but he remembered the theory he had taught himself from books as a child. Quietly, in case Tifa was still sleeping, he began to run through some 2-5 progressions with his left hand. He had always liked jazz, even though the intricacies of soloing had felt above his level. The simpler tunes, however, were accessible, and anyone who knew a few good chord progressions could improvise something decent sounding.

He paused for a moment, trying to remember the chords to an old standard he had once known.

“I didn’t know you still played.”

Startled, Cloud turned to see Tifa standing next to the ladder, still in her pajamas.

“I didn’t either, if we’re being honest.”

“I don’t practice much anymore,” she said, walking over to the piano and placing a hand on its dusty surface. “So someone should get some use out of it. It really does sound nice.”

Cloud shrugged awkwardly, unused to compliments like these. “I heard you humming that song last night. I guess I felt a little nostalgic.”

"I can't believe you still remember it," she replied with a smile.

There was a pause, and then Tifa crossed the room again and seated herself on the bed, smoothing the wrinkled sheets. Without a word, she began to hum, just like she had all those years ago.

The chords came easier to him this time.


End file.
